


The Effect of the Butterfly Knife

by BubblyWashingMachine



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: :(, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Gen, Mild Blood, Number Five | The Boy Didn't Leave The Umbrella Academy, Stabbing, Vanya Hargreeves Needs A Hug, a stupid idea taken seriously, and NOW one where she gets stabbed in the hand, first I write a fic where baby vanya gets shot in the foot, stay tuned to find out how many more times i can hurt my favourite character ahfgjkg, this is so stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27677941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblyWashingMachine/pseuds/BubblyWashingMachine
Summary: This whole 'time travel' thing was becoming unreasonable. Vanya rolled her eyes and reached for her water glass. She really hoped Five would get over this phase soon – he was obsessing, and it wasn’t healthy. It was exhausting.The tips of her fingers had just brushed the cool crystal glass when Five, still glowering at Reginald without a spare scrap of attention for anything or anyone else, swept up his knife in one smooth motion and slammed it blade-down into the wood of the table with a thud.Into the table, right through Vanya’s hand.OR: a really dumb idea I had which is: what if when Five did his INCREDIBLY dramatic stab-the-table move, he uh. he stabbed vanya's hand accidentally?
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 35
Kudos: 252





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally so dumb but like. who cares? you know?
> 
> fun fact I HATE writing in past tense. Why did I do it here? like, why? ugh.

The day had started off, as most things concerning Vanya were, quite ordinary.

Vanya kept her eyes on her own plate, refusing to give Five more attention than his tantrum, as she considered it, deserved.

They’d had a fight last night, about time travel again, and so they weren’t speaking. Vanya had timidly suggested Five wasn’t ready for time travel, that it wasn’t safe, (privately she doubted it was even possible) and he had, of course, taken great offense, storming out of her room in a splash of cold blue light. They hadn’t spoken since - Five hadn’t even spared her a glance.

But Vanya didn’t think she had been in the wrong, though she was becoming twitchier the longer this feud went on. Vanya wasn’t sure if Five had even noticed it – if he, absorbed in his own small world, even knew they were having a fight. Maybe Vanya had made the whole thing up.

But no. With annoyance she cut into her roast as forcefully as she dared; still making an effort not to scrape the plate too loudly for fear of incurring Reginald’s wrath. Time travel was _all_ Five ever talked about these days, and it was beginning to irk Vanya. No, that’s generous – it had been irritating her for quite some time now. Five had always been a prideful, stubborn boy, but even Vanya’s once-endless patience for his wild theories and ramblings had worn thin this past week.

_How was training?_ Vanya would ask politely, hands folded.

And Five would only scowl and pace wildly around the room, barely acknowledging her in his single-minded frustration. _Reginald thinks I’m not ready, but that’s bullshit. What would the bastard know about time travel? It’s my power!_ Blah blah blah… This would go on forever until he would finally remember she was there, and then carelessly inquire about her violin playing or her studies. Only in a perfunctory way, it felt.

_As if Five could be bothered to really care about Vanya’s violin playing when he had something as interesting as time travel on his mind,_ Vanya thought bitterly.

She had been afraid, truthfully. Afraid of losing him, afraid of being alone, afraid of Reginald. She was not naïve enough to think that Five would ever really listen to anyone but himself, and that scared her. He might be aggravating at times, and too ambitious, but he was still Vanya’s best friend, and what that was worth, what _she_ was worth, she didn’t know.

If he left her behind to time travel, she wasn’t sure there would be enough here for him to want to come back.

Vanya glanced up from her roast and was not at all surprised to see Five glaring daggers at their father - the other children, like Vanya, awkwardly chewing and looking away in the tense silence of the dining room. His food untouched, elbows on the table – she looked away, and wished for this meal to be over with already.

Cut, bite, chew. Luther cleared his throat awkwardly, and opened his mouth as if about to speak. Then he peeked at Number Five’s furious expression, and closed it again.

Vanya slipped her pill into her mouth and swallowed it dry, anticipating the familiar way that the noise of the world dulled around her ever-so-slightly, dampening, everything a little smaller. Her annoyance at Five, so vivid just a moment ago, blurred and melted away.

Still, though. This whole 'time travel' thing was becoming unreasonable. Vanya rolled her eyes and reached for her water glass. She really hoped Five would get over this phase soon – he was obsessing, and it wasn’t healthy. It was exhausting.

The tips of her fingers had just brushed the cool crystal glass when Five, still glowering at Reginald without a spare scrap of attention for anything or anyone else, swept up his knife in one smooth motion and slammed it blade-down into the wood of the table with a _thud._

Into the table, right through Vanya’s hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so I added 'angst' as a tag because the fic turned out WAY more angsty than I was expecting (honestly not sure what I was expecting) but DON'T worry it's still happy in the end because YES! I am still a giant softie thanks for asking!!

Vanya screamed.

The sound, ear-shatteringly loud next to him, pierced through the room and Five flinched violently, finally tearing his eyes off of Reginald, ruining the opportunity. He stared at Vanya for a spilt second, not comprehending, a flare of frustration rearing its head. Why was she _screaming_?

“Stop that at once, Number Seven,” the old man bellowed, but Vanya just kept shrieking. Diego had his hands over his ears and Allison had dropped her fork in shock, the metal clattering to the ground.

It took Five a few more seconds, a few humiliating seconds, to figure out why his sister was screaming. She had one hand spread across her face, covering her mouth. Her eyes, wide and wet, streamed pained tears. And her other hand --

“Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit,” he chanted, roughly shoving his chair back from the table and scrambling to his feet. Was he panicking? Was this panic?

A pool of dark blood was seeping across the table, spreading out around Vanya’s impaled hand. The puddle reached the edge of the wood and began dripping onto the floor.

“Vanya, oh, _shit_ , just – stay still – Diego, get Mom _right now_ ,” Five forced out. Diego didn’t argue for once, just dropped his forkful of food and bolted from the room.

“You fucking _stabbed her_?” Klaus cried, in terror or delight, Five couldn’t tell.

“Okay, everyone just calm down,” Luther called out, ineffective and indecisive as per fucking usual. Five couldn’t even bring himself to shoot him a look meant to kill as he normally would. Vanya wailed.

Ben had a hand over his mouth, looking at Five – looking at Five with horror. Five felt his entire body flush with shame, an uncomfortable feeling which he stomped down. He looked at the knife he stuck into the table, throat tight.

“Number Seven, cease your unholy shrieking immediately!” Reginald roared.

Allison stood up from the table dramatically. “ _I heard a rumour_ that you stopped screaming,” she said, very firmly, obviously trying to impress Reginald.

Vanya’s jaw slammed shut, her hand clamping even tighter over her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut from the pain. The room suddenly became eerily quiet again, except for the mumblings of the ‘A Swedish Field Army Mandate to Mountaineering’ guy still lecturing them about rope from the record player. Faintly, Diego could be heard yelling for Grace.

“Vanya -- I’m sorry,” Five said, static rushing in his ears. He was aware of Reginald at the other end of the table watching in silence. “I didn’t mean – I’m _sorry_! Just, don’t move.” _Fuck._

Vanya whimpered from behind her fist. Her body, drawn forward and shaking, was unnaturally still, poised in a position like she had been about to stand and run but couldn’t. His fault. He _stabbed_ her and he wasn’t even looking and now she was bleeding all over the table.

Five’s hands moved without purpose, hovering in the air uselessly – he couldn’t touch her without making the pain worse, and it’s not like he could comfort her. He’s the one who hurt her. He roughly ran a hand over his own face, forcing back the cloying feeling of tears in his throat and exhaling shakily. All he could say was, “I’m sorry.”

“Shh, Vanya, it’s going to be okay,” Ben said, in a soothing voice that he must have copied from Mom. Since when was he standing there? Five’s heart was racing. “Just try to keep breathing, it’s okay.”

Vanya was doing a bad job of that. So was Five.

Finally, Mom rushed in with Diego close behind, a flurry of clicking heels and swishing skirts. Five wasn’t sure how long it had taken her to get there – seconds? Or minutes? She took one look at the situation – Ben, Luther and Five hovering helplessly, Reginald reading his book, Klaus stuffing his face with mashed potatoes, and Vanya on the verge of hyperventilating – and said, “Allison, remember that rumour we practiced when Luther got shot last year?”

“I – yes!” Allison said, her face a deep red. “Of course! Vanya, _I heard a rumour_ that you couldn’t feel any pain in your injured hand for the next two hours.”

“Well done, dear,” Grace praised cheerfully, and Vanya’s eyes clouded over white for a second, and then when she blinked, she pried her hand off of her mouth and scrubbed it across her face to dry her tears. Five relaxed, slightly, and realised that he was trembling. “Now, Vanya, I’m going to remove the knife, all right? Then we’ll go to the infirmary.”

Vanya nodded mutely, staring at the table as Mom yanked Five’s cutlery out of the mahogany and then whisked her away. Five instinctively took steps to follow, feeling lost, biting down hard on this inside of his cheek. Faltering, he forced himself to stop.

Vanya didn’t say anything. Five desperately wished she would say something. Or look at him. And then she was gone, and everyone was staring at him, and Ben’s eyes were glistening, and Reginald said, “Well, Number Five, I do hope that little show of childish impudence has taught you a valuable lesson.”

Five scowled at the pool of blood he was standing in.

He fucked up.

He shoved his chair back into the table and stalked off, ignoring Ben’s many questions – _I don't know WHY I did it, I just DID_ _–_ and his father demanding that he return.

Vanya, the only one of them who couldn't protect herself, who was vulnerable. Who had no self defence training, who always listened to his mathematical theories even when she doesn’t understand, who was too shy to let him listen to her violin playing until two months after she started because she was afraid he’d think she was bad at it. And Five stabbed her. _God. Shit._

…If only he could go back.

_No!_

Time travel is what got him into this stupid mess. Vanya had been right yesterday when she said he was fixating – his narrow-mindedness led to this. If he’d just – been paying attention. If he hadn’t been so stuck in his own mind, then Vanya would – Vanya wouldn’t be injured.

This was his fault. He accepted it, internalized it. Time travelling back was a coward’s solution – and if Vanya and, though it pained him to say it, _Reginald_ were right, and he became lost to time forever – well. What a sending-off that’d be. What a way to say goodbye. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking.

He would wait before he visited her, keep out of the way. _She probably doesn’t want to see me,_ he thought angrily as he made his way around the mansion. It was only a few moments later that, despite what he was trying to convince himself of, he realised that he was walking in the direction of the infirmary.

Rather than correct the course – what would he have done, moped in his bedroom for hours? – Five went quietly to the door of the infirmary and sat in the hall outside, sliding his back to the wall and dropping his head to his knees, his whole body shaking.

He could hear Vanya crying.

He would wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh i swear the next chapter is a lot cuter.... i don't really know what happened here....
> 
> also yes I STILL hate writing in past tense and I STILL don't know why i am doing this to myself


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know WHYYY this chapter ended up so long!! (okay, okaaaaay, I do, I got carried away writing 5 and 7 banter like always.)
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!!! :D

Vanya didn’t pay much attention to the gentle words Mom was giving her, meaningless whispers of comfort and reassurance. Her hand, now bandaged in crisp white, rested in her lap, unfeeling, open. _Accidents happen. You’ll be good as new in no time._

No one had come to visit her. Mom said something about training, and Vanya turned her face away.

Ben wouldn’t come if it would risk getting in trouble, ‘cause Ben _hated_ being in trouble.

And Five… well, she thought she had a feeling about where Five might be.

“How about I make you a hot chocolate?” Grace said, something like desperation edging into her almost-human voice when Vanya continually refused to acknowledge her. She probably thought Vanya was in shock or something, but she wasn’t.

Was she being insensitive?

Yes, she decided. It was unfair for her to be acting like this – sullen, like a child. Grace didn’t do anything wrong.

“Sure, Mom,” she said, trying not to let too much resentment seep into her words. “Make two?” She had a feeling she would need two.

She watched from underneath her bangs as Grace nodded and happily clicked her way out of the infirmary and shut the door behind her. She looked back down. The sunlight oozing from the high windows cast a sickly yellow glow on Vanya’s shoes.

Now, Vanya was alone.

She stared at the bandage, at the pure whiteness of it. Underneath, she knew there was a wound, deep and maybe permanent, but she couldn’t see it, or feel it. Soon the pain would return. Soon, this would be real.

Vanya felt her lip quivering and realised that the tears were coming again - pathetic. Silently, she hid her face in her elbow and cried there, letting the itchy fabric of her blazer absorb the evidence of her weakness. No one was there to watch.

And then when she was all cried out, her chest no longer heaving sobs, her face probably a humiliating blotchy red, she called out, “Five?” in a quavery voice. Half-hoping, half-afraid.

A pause. The hallway clock ticked impatiently, and after seven seconds of waiting, the infirmary door cracked open. Five’s pale face – or just half of it – peeked around the heavy wood. He didn’t say anything, and just looked at her with big wet eyes. She had been right.

“Come over here,” Vanya said, sighing. She sniffled again and wiped her running nose on her sleeve, and a flash of disgust flickered in Five’s expression, finding it just gross enough that he apparently decided to do what she said. He closed the door, and it made a too-loud noise.

Standing in the yellow light, unsure of himself, he looked so different than he had that morning. His hands, usually tense by his sides or tucked into his pockets smugly, hung like dead weights. “Hi, Vanya,” he said, sounding kind of miserable.

“Come,” she said again, beckoning, and then winced at the hesitation in his steps. Five probably didn’t even want to be here. But he came anyway.

He sat on the wooden chair beside her, so small, wary, and unlike himself. That’s what happened when you break things and hurt people, Vanya thought. Ben was proof of that. Five’s eyes never left her injured hand, and she knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.” Because of the rumour.

“But it will.”

“Yeah,” she said, biting the inside of her mouth. “It will.”

She held out the bandaged hand and he looked at it closely, not touching, looking for _what_ she didn’t know. Examining the quality of Mom’s bandaging skills, maybe. He said, quietly, “How long will it take it heal?”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, feeling hot tears rise in her throat again. “I wasn’t listening when she said.”

She thought she might start crying again, and it must have showed on her face, because Five stared at her with growing horror. “Vanya…”

“I don’t know!” All her feelings twisted around inside of her like a bowl of writhing snakes. Hurt, betrayal, anger, sadness. Mostly sadness. “Why are you still here? I thought you would have time travelled your way out of this mess.” She sounds pitifully small, though the words had sounded furious in her head.

“I thought about it.” Of course he did. “But I’m still here.”

“I guess you are.”

“Seven, don’t cry.”

She grimaced, the emotions bitter on her tongue. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Five frowned, looking pained. “Stop.”

It didn’t help, because of course it wouldn’t. When the tears finally did start to drip down her face again, she looked back down at her shoes, willing them to stop. Five hated it whenever she cried. Or apologized for crying. She couldn’t do _anything_ right.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said in a rush, sounding constricted. “It was my fault, I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.” And he took the handkerchief that he tended to carry on him – for this express purpose, it seemed – and shoved it at her, dropping it in her hand and moving back like she might bite his arm.

It was a big deal for Five to say _please_. But Vanya, overcome with disappointment and a general cloying sense of sadness that seemed to hang around her like a fog, shut her eyes and hunched over further. A faint ache had started to build in the palm of her hand. She squeezed the handkerchief into a fist. “You can’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t,” she said hotly, and practically felt him crumble beside her.

“I’ll try,” he said hopelessly. But it’s his fault she was hurting. It’s his fault she wouldn’t be able to—

“You stabbed me,” she cried, and wiped her uninjured hand over her face, turning and glaring at him. “You – you _asshole_!”

“You just swore.”

“Because I’m mad at you. Dickhead.”

“I said I was sorry!” Vanya knew her brother too well to think he was actually angry. The words dripped with desperation. Impatience, for her to forgive him and for things to go back to normal. Always impatient.

“Why did you do it, anyway? Was it worth it?”

“I don’t know,” he said, exhaling. “I just wanted – him to pay attention to me. To listen. Take me seriously. I wasn’t looking—” He hunched over and sulked, looking at the floor, trailing off. She understood it, she supposed. “And _no_ , it wasn’t, idiot.”

“That’s so lame,” she said anyway, sniffling. She stopped. “You know I can’t – you know the—” The words creaked and broke and she couldn’t finish.

“The violin.” Five’s mouth wobbled, and he swallowed. “I know.”

“Do you, though?” Vanya waved her bandaged hand in his face, now throbbing, feeling her expression contort in response to the pain. He grabbed her wrist.

“Stop,” he hissed. “I do know. I do. I’m _sorry_!”

“I _know_ you’re sorry,” Vanya wailed, pulling her arm away and burying her face in her normal hand, in the handkerchief, so he didn’t have to watch her cry. It smelled like soap. Her hand hurt. “I _get_ it, Five.”

Suddenly, he was hugging her with awkward arms around her shoulders. He was warm from standing in the sun. She froze. After a few excruciating seconds – Five had never been a great hugger – he said in a very weak voice, “Vanya, how do I fix it?” Impatient, as always.

She hesitated, and he sighed and dropped his head onto her shoulder. She answered, muffled from his arms squishing against her face, “Just – stay. Okay?”

“I’m staying,” he grumbled into her hair.

“No time travelling,” she clarified, “Not yet. And not without me.”

“Fine.”

“And you have to do my homework for a month.”

He groaned. “ _Fine_.”

“Including Russian,” she added, just to make him scowl, pushing her luck. He let go of her and pulled away, rolling his eyes. He didn’t really mean it, clearly, because his mouth quirked up in a sort of relieved way when he looked at her. Probably thinking ‘ _at least she’s not crying anymore_.’

“Any more _conditions_ , Number Seven?” He folded his arms.

She sniffled. “I reserve the right to add any more conditions at any time until my hand is better.”

Five made a noise of indignation. “You do realise that you can still _write,_ ” he exclaimed, reaching out and holding up her hand by the wrist. “You’re not _left_ -handed.”

“That’s a good point,” Vanya said, and leaned forward. “But consider this – you _stabbed_ me.”

His face twisted and he dropped her hand, looking away ashamedly. “Okay, fair enough.” He glanced at her. “Tell me, how long do you plan on drawing out these guilt-trips? Just so I know.”

“As long as I deem necessary,” Vanya said sweetly, and he glowered.

Just then, Mom waltzed in, holding a tray with two mugs of hot chocolate. One with marshmallows, one without. “Oh, Five, what a surprise! Aren’t you meant to be in training?”

“I will neither confirm, nor deny that,” Five said testily, but took a mug without complaining. Vanya took his and swapped it with her own, giving him the marshmallow one. She preferred it without.

“Alright,” Grace said easily, taking the tray and making to leave. “Oh, and Vanya; do you have any ideas about what you would like to study during your allocated violin practice times? Sadly it might be a little while until you can play safely.”

“Yes, Mom,” Vanya said cheerfully, earning a raised eyebrow from Five. “I was thinking I might use the time to teach Five how to play. After all, they say the best way to learn something is to teach it.”

Five gawked at her with a look of abject horror as Mom gushed about how good of an idea that was. When the android was gone, having said something about returning to their studies soon, he jabbed a finger in her face. “Me? _Violin_?”

“I will live vicariously through you,” she declared, and took a big gulp of hot chocolate.

He snarled, and she smiled. They both knew he did _not_ have the patience for learning an instrument. “Vanya, come on! _I don’t want to_ —”

“Hey Five?”

“ _What_.”

“Do you remember that time,” she took a drink of hot chocolate, finishing it, and then gave him her best doe-eyes, “that you _stabbed_ me?”

“Nope, don’t recall,” Five said quickly, standing up from his chair and backing away, eyes narrowed. It was the eyes, definitely. They never failed. “That never happened.”

“Oh, but it did,” Vanya mused, and then stood up too, one hand bandaged and hurting, and the other cradling a now-empty mug and a handkerchief. “I definitely remember it. The pain, the horrible pain, and the blood—”

Five went pale and covered his eyes, gritting his teeth. “Vanya…”

“It was awful. You have my snot all over your blazer, by the way,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. From between his fingers, Five glared at her without any heat.

“That is so gross,” he snapped.

“ _You’re_ gross. You also have my blood all over your shoes.”

“ _What_!” His head snapped down to look at his feet and she stole his mug and drank the last of his hot chocolate while he was distracted.

“This evening, we begin your violin tutelage,” she said, handing him both of the empty mugs and not even flinching at the absolutely scathing look he was trying to give her. It never worked on her. “Be ready.”

“I’m going to play _so_ badly that you’ll be begging me to stop. I’ll make your ears bleed. I will _butcher_ your precious violin and that _is_ a promise,” Five said menacingly, pointing a finger at her as she grinned and opened the door to leave, but mostly he just looked relieved that she didn’t hate him.

Didn’t stop him from dropping the mugs straight back down on the table deliberately and brushing past her.

Together, they walked out into the hallway and took a moment to blink at the light and dust in the air, and the faint, distant shouting of the Umbrella Academy in training outside. Privately, she thought Five wouldn’t do too badly playing an instrument. Maybe the piano.

They started down the corridor towards the stairs, and began the long trek up to Five’s room. Vanya felt pleased that he didn’t teleport ahead as he usually would, instead walking beside her, pretending like he wasn’t glancing over at her every few seconds to make sure she wasn’t going to faint or anything.

And unbeknownst to them, although Vanya’s hand hurt a _lot_ and it took months before she could play again without any pain; and _maybe_ her playing was never _quite_ the same, something that made Five guilty every time he thought about it – Five stayed true to his word and refrained from time travelling, staying by Vanya’s side instead.

In four years, Ben would not die on a mission, because Five would be there to find him and blink him out of the burning building before it collapsed.

In _five_ years, every one of the Hargreeves children – including Luther – would leave the Umbrella Academy behind, and in ten, Five would be rifling through Reginald’s study for some documentation about Vanya’s mystery pills and answers as to _why_ she had to take them, when he would stumble across a certain blood-red book.

And in seventeen years on the first day of April, 2019, Number Five – by now an experienced time traveller and professional academic with four PhDs under his belt at thirty years of age – would be sitting with the rest of his siblings in a row of reserved seats at the Icarus theatre watching his sister’s performance as first chair with pride.

The audience would lean forward, captivated as she played, and later would describe her as radiant, almost _glowing_ in her performance. She would wear a bright white suit, and have a small white scar on the back of her hand, and after the show, she and Five would kick off their shoes at her apartment and _clink_ two mugs of hot chocolate together in celebration, one with marshmallows, and one without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading The Effect of the Butterfly Knife! (Or, as it was so eloquently titled in my word docs and SO close to being the official fuckin name cause I suck at thinking of titles: 'five stabs vanya')
> 
> This story was silly but fun, and thank you for all the nice comments!!! I really appreciate them! love u!

**Author's Note:**

> this will have three chapters probably!! I hope you liked it! I have approximately a million other WIPs on the go but I'm hoping that by posting this it will motivate me to finish it


End file.
